


Compromised

by LananiA3O



Series: Batfam Week prompt fills [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Gen, Mild Injuries, Swearing, mild PTSD, robin!jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 13:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11276043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LananiA3O/pseuds/LananiA3O
Summary: When Dick gets injured in one of the worst parts of town during their monthly training sessions, Jason takes him to a safe-house of his own that Dick never knew he had, in order to treat the wound. Little does Dick know it would be far from the last surprise that evening.





	Compromised

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lysical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysical/gifts).



> Written to fill my third Batfam Week prompt, this time by Lysical, who asked for a brotherly bonding fic between Arkham!Dick and Arkham!Robin!Jason. Unfortunately, the original prompt was swallowed by my inbox. Decided to write it anway.  
> POV: Dick  
> For more info on my stories, headcanons, streams, and occasional ramblings, please visit my tumblr:  
> http://lananiscorner.tumblr.com/

Jason doomed himself with seven little words: „I’ve got a safe-house nearby. Let’s go.”

Dick was already halfway through his I’ll-be-fine-don’t-worry-about-me bit when his mind did a back-take. “You have what now?”

Dick knew all of Batman’s safe-houses in Gotham. He knew them like the back of his hand, because Bruce had drilled their locations into him during his very first month as Robin. Over the course of his career in red and green, they had ditched two or three and maybe added one or two new ones, so while it sounded perfectly reasonable for Batman to have added another one Dick would not know about in the four months since Jason had passed the Gauntlet, it did not sound reasonable at all for him to have one in Drescher.

D-r-e-s-c-h-e-r. The half-abandoned, half-rotten ghost town that had been foreclosed and all but razed by the city council ‘to make way for new economic development within the next six months’. They would be lucky to see said development within the next six _years_ , because that’s how long it usually took the pencil-pushers to get off their powdered asses. Right now, the only booming industries in Drescher were the drug trade, prostitution, and the deliberate exploitation of Gotham’s homeless.

‘Safe’ was not a word Dick would use to describe it.

“Bruce would never set up a safe-house here.”

Jason flinched, then scowled. “I didn’t say it was his safe-house, did I?” He gave another look at Dick’s arm – bleeding badly from a collision with a rusty, broken pipe – and his scowl only darkened. “Plug up that wound until we get there. If you leave a blood trail to my doorstep, I’ll give you a matching pair.”

With one last indignant huff, Jason darted off into the shady streets of Drescher’s underbelly, deserted before nightfall, which is why they had chosen to come here for this month’s training session to begin with. Dick tied the makeshift bandage around his left arm tighter, before bounding after him. He had to give Jason credit where credit was due: what he was lacking in speed and grace, he made up for in good navigational skills and sheer audacity. No wall was too high, no leap too big, and before he knew it, they were facing a tiny little alley near the old fish market.

Dick knew why Jason had chosen that route the moment he attempted to follow. He had never fully followed through on Bruce’ rigorous weight training, always prioritizing speed over muscle mass, but even for Dick it was a tight fit squeezing sideways between the two adjacent walls. Jason had packed on a lot of muscle since Bruce had first taken him in, but he was still just a fourteen-year-old kid. Bruce, on the other hand, with his two-hundred plus pounds of muscle would never, ever have fit through here.

They emerged into a tiny little patio of sorts, harsh and barren under the flimsy tangerine light of one street lamp and the broken bulb of another. In between the cobblestones, weeds were springing forth in sickly yellowish-green, and on the remaining houses – how they were still standing Dick did not want to question, because they sure looked like they wouldn’t for much longer – all windows were either broken or boarded up.

Despite continuously surveying his surroundings for curious eyes or other dangers, Dick could not suppress an amused smile as Jason lifted one of the stepping stones up the stairs to a perfectly mediocre looking ruin of a barber shop that appeared to be about as accessible as Pena Dura and scanned his handprint. The boards that looked like they had been nailed to the front door lifted and slid aside easily, giving Jason access to the lock he had picked in four seconds. From the now open doorway, sheer blackness loomed at him, daring Dick to follow Jason’s outstretched hand.

“Move along already, Dick. I don’t want to stand here all day.”

Neither did Dick, and while it certainly looked and felt like he was about to enter the haunted house ride from hell, he just had to trust his little brother. After all, if he didn’t bother, why should Jay? With a deep breath, Dick stepped through.

The lights came on as soon as he had taken all of two steps. Jason slipped in right behind him, closing the door and triggering the mechanism that slid the boards back into place. Dick felt his jaw drop.

On the left side of the formerly supposedly symmetric, elongated room, all mirrors, chairs, and cabinets had been removed. He could see where Jason had plastered up the wall to prevent chunks and crumbs of brick and drywall to rain onto the two twin-bed-sized mattresses resting head to head, with one side against the crimson-painted wall. The sheets looked perfectly orderly and clean, the floor the mattresses were resting on even more so. Despite being in the middle of one of the dirtiest, nastiest parts of town, Dick was sure he could have eaten breakfast off those sand- and sienna-colored tiles, if he had wanted to. The cash register in the back had been remodeled to include two electric stove plates, a spacious counter and a sink, and Dick was willing to bet every single cent in his pocket that the four cabinets mounted to the back wall were generously stuffed with things four times as healthy as anything in his own apartment. Alfred had sounded unbelievably proud when he had told Dick that Master Todd took very well to Alfred’s healthy, nutritious approach to eating and cooking.

On the right side of the room, the mirrors and cabinets had remained, as had two of the three chairs in all their orange and mocca-colored glory. A long stack of books lined the top of the shelf near the end of the room, just before what had once been the employee bathroom and probably included a shower now.

“Wow!” Somehow, Alfred’s etiquette training still shone through just a little, and Dick nudged out of his shoes before stepping into the center of the room. “This is a safe-house? It’s cleaner than my own apartment!”

“Like that’s an achievement!” Jason rolled his eyes at him before heading for the farthest drawer on the right side. “Pick a chair. I’ll patch up that arm of yours.”

Dick did as he was told, diligently shrugging out of the torn, left side of his shirt while his eyes were still scanning the room. Despite having been stripped of any and all clutter, it looked very warm and welcoming. And very homely. And very red. _Very Jason_ , Dick thought to himself, and not even the sting of water followed by disinfectant as Jason got to work cleaning out the nasty cut along his arm could spoil the glorious feeling of joy and pride as he took in every inch of his surroundings.

“This is so much nicer than Bruce’ safe-houses,” Dick mused while trying not to wince as Jason sewed up his arm. His stitches were still pretty clumsy, but neither Dick nor Bruce were much better at it themselves and Alfred was not here. “How long did it take you to set this place up?”

Jason seemed to ponder that for a moment, both too fixated on the task at hand and not entirely sure whether that was info that was safe to reveal. He bit his lip slightly. “Don’t remember. Been doing a fix here, a quick paint job there, whenever I wasn’t at the manor.”

That, of course, was Jason’s very polite and matter-of-factly way of saying ‘whenever I got the hell out of dodge because Bruce was being an ass, or all the luxury around me got too intimidating, or the nightmares came back’. Dick hadn’t even known about Jason’s habit of occasionally running from the manor until Alfred had mentioned it to him one day, sick with worry because it had been eleven days – a new record for Jason – since the little bird had fled from the nest to hide out god knew where.

 _To hide out here, apparently_ , Dick thought, as Jason put a fresh, clean bandage on the wound. He answered the question if he needed a tetanus shot with a quick shake of his head. “Do you come down here a lot?”

“Not really,” Jason said, as he returned the remaining supplies to their respective drawer and ditched the used pieces in a nearby trashcan. He watched Dick shrug back into his shirt with what looked like a very uncomfortable mixture of disdain and uneasiness. “Bruce is gonna be so pissed when I get home tonight.”

“Why?” Dick raised an eyebrow. “I’m not gonna tell him that you’ve got your own secret little safe-house out here. I promise you that, Jay. We all have our share of secrets, and for a hideout, this is pretty ingenious.”

“Save the fake praise for someone who gives a fuck,” Jay lobbed back at him. “This ain’t the only place I’ve got and I won’t be using it again after this. It’s compromised now.”

“Compromised?” Dick nearly wanted to laugh, until a look at the hard, unforgiving stare his little brother gave him made him realize that he was not joking. Horror curled in his gut. “Jason, no. I swear, on my parents’ graves, I’m not gonna tell Bruce or Alfred or anyone about this place unless you want me to. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Sure it is.”

There was no more warmth left in the young, bright voice that had suddenly dropped an octave, and Dick felt a shudder run down his spine at the implication. It was one thing to assume that his little brother still did not fully trust him. It was another having that truth thrust right into his face, like a sledgehammer into a wall. As far as Jason was concerned, bringing him here had been a crucial mistake.

“If you didn’t want me to find out about this place, why bring me here?”

“You don’t have any safe-houses nearby. Neither does Bruce. There are no pharmacies or clinics around here, and that wound was bleeding pretty badly. I prioritized.”

And as much as he obviously hated himself for leading Dick here, as much as he considered it a stupid thing to do, giving away the location of one of his hideouts, Jason had done it, because ‘priority’ in this case meant ‘physical well-being’. The priority in this case, was him.

“Thank you, Jason.” Dick did his best to let the tone of his voice do all the talking for once. No smiles, which Jason still did not trust, and no grand speeches, which Jason despised. “I really, really appreciate it.”

For a moment, all was quiet in the abandoned barber shop, to the point where Dick could have sworn he would have heard a pin drop. Jason still did not seem convinced, though it was getting harder to tell. Bruce’s resting no-comment face seemed to be starting to rub off on him, and Dick clenched his teeth at the thought. It wasn’t healthy.

Of all the things that could finally break the silence, Dick would never have guessed the rumbling of his own stomach. He could feel his face turn redder with every second the loud, displeased grumbling dragged on, before it finally culminated in Jason face-palming in exasperation.

“You both think you are sooooo great, but I swear you’d be dead within a fucking week without Alfie. Make yourself comfortable, _dick_. I’ll fix us some dinner.”

Dick wanted to protest. He was already out of his chair, tailing Jason to the counter in the back, ready to stop him from pulling surprisingly fresh groceries from the cupboards mounted on the wall and the mini-freezer located next to the sink, when it finally clicked. His feet ground to a halt instantly.

Jason didn’t want any help. He didn’t want any sympathy. He didn’t want any encouragement. He wanted control. This was _his_ safe-house, _his_ medical supplies, _his_ food, _his_ rules. He wanted – no, needed – to call the shots on this one, and Dick could see it in his eyes. One more word to try and wrestle that control from him and he’d be in for a full-blown rage fit that was not likely to end well for anyone involved.

He wanted to hug him. He wanted to hold him and tell him that he didn’t need to do that, that he understood now, but Dick knew it would not end well. Physical contact had been an iffy subject with Jason from day one, and while their monthly sparring sessions had helped breaking the ice and getting him used to a few simple, neutral touches, anything that bordered on emotional commitment, even if in a strictly platonic kind of way, was still a mine field.

With a deep sigh, Dick resigned himself to sitting down in his chair once more, one leg tucked underneath him, the other slung over the armrest and his head leaning against the back. He didn’t have the best angle, but he could see that Jason had procured a wok and was busy adding ingredients to it one by one. It was, perhaps, the safest topic he could touch right now.

“So what are we having?”

“Pad thai.”

“Mmmmm... delicious.”

It ended up tasting as good as it smelled. Dick closed his eyes in bliss as he took the first few bites. Clearly Jason had paid a thousand times more attention to Alfred’s workings in the manor than Dick ever had. At some point around the ‘plate half-finished’ mark, Jason procured a laptop from one of the other cabinets and opened up some documentary or another about African wildlife. The narration was corny and cheesy as could be, but Jason didn’t seem to mind, too engrossed by the images of a baby giraffe taking its first wobbly steps after its mom.

“So much for models of elegance and grace,” Dick muttered through a mouthful of noodles. Jason glared at him as he finished his own bite, then swallowed hard.

“One: how well did you walk, three hours into your stupid life? Two: it’s a fucking giraffe, Dick. I don’t care if she’s stumbling along like a drunk sob fresh out of Hooters. It’s a fucking giraffe. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to non-native wildlife.”

Dick chuckled at that. “What, you gonna tell me Bruce never takes you with him on any of those fancy business trips he has to take? He goes halfway ‘round the world at least twice a year.”

“Can’t miss my classes,” Jason replied sharply in between quick mouthfuls of pad thai.

“Gotham has a zoo.”

“And I’m sure it’s lovely.”

Dick nearly choked on the sprouts and egg that he had just stuffed into his mouth. He glanced back and forth between Jason and the documentary, which had somehow moved from adorable baby giraffes to a hippo eviscerating a crocodile.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never been?!”

“Classes, training, patrol, bed. Where the hell do you see ‘zoo’ in that list?”

“Jesus Christ...” He finished his bowl out of pure courtesy, but the food lay heavy in his stomach. He had known that Bruce had laid down a strict regimen for Jason, but this was bordering on insanity. “Would you want to go?” He blurted the question out without much thought. Jason looked at him as if he had just made the lamest joke ever. “I mean it, Jaybird. Would you like to go to the zoo?”

Jason didn’t answer. He finished his bowl – quick, frantic bites with too little chewing that spoke of nervousness and memories of starving hunger – then grabbed Dick’s bowl as well and made a beeline for the sink. The water was steaming hot, but Dick doubted he felt it. He knew that kind of fury. He had been there. Many times. Usually because of Bruce. The thought that he and his little brother had much more in common than anyone probably knew drew a sudden chuckle from him.

“Alright, let me see if I got this all figured out...” He leaned on the counter above the stove plates, careful to stay out of immediate striking range. “You’ve never been to the zoo, but you would like to go. Bruce does not let you out of the house for anything that’s not patrol, or meeting up with Babs, or our monthly sparring sessions, and he’s so paranoid about your physical recovery, he’s not letting you have junk food or any kind of sweet treat that does not have the Alfred stamp of approval.” When Jason had first told him about that, it had made him want to cry. It didn’t feel any better now. “Anything else I should know?”

His brother’s hands paused for just a second, before finishing the rinsing of the bowls and chopsticks. “I’ll be in for one hell of a lecture for getting you injured. Again.”

Dick pointed at his arm. “What? This? Jason, that strife shot I took two months ago was not your fault and neither is this. We sparred, you pulled off a zip kick a bit better than I thought, I stumbled, I cut open my arm. It’s full contact sparring in a real city environment. Accidents can happen.”

“To the Great Dick Grayson?” Jason’s tone was mocking to the nth degree. “Don’t make me laugh. You could shoot a thug at point blank and he’d blame it on the gun.”

“Then I’ll make sure he won’t.”

He wanted to argue. Dick wasn’t perfect, he knew that much. He had had plenty of disagreements, even real fights, with Bruce, too. He had failed training exercises just like Jason had. He had heard the sermons and the lectures. He had gotten the disappointed stares.

He also knew that Jason would not believe a single word of it. Not yet. Because trust had to be earned. He also knew that confronting Bruce about any of this would only lead to more shouting towards Dick and more churlish silence towards Jason, and so he pushed down that instinct, too.

 _Could go the round-about route via Alfred_ , Dick mused, and the thought instantly seemed a lot saner. Bruce could rage at Jason and Dick, but he would never dare to speak to Alfred like that. And Alfred would help Jason. Dick was sure of it.

“Jason, do you have any plans for next Sunday?”

“You know I don’t. Sunday’s my day off.”

 _At least until eight o’ clock, when Bruce would insist on a short, four-hour patrol_. Dick remembered shaking his head when Jason had first told him of his schedule. Dick knew cops and medics who had less of a busy day than his little brother.

“I’ll take you to the zoo, then. We’ll have chili dogs and triple chocolate ice cream and cotton candy and all the chocolate Soder Cola in the entire park.”

“You have to work next Sunday,” Jason argued, but Dick was having none of it.

He retrieved his phone from his jeans, dialed the number of his supervisor, and traded his Sunday morning shift in for a double on Saturday. The look on Jason’s face was priceless. Now he’d only have to call Alfred, later, in private, to tell him to subtly steer Bruce into the idea of bringing Jason along the next time he went on a business trip to some fancy far off country that sounded like fun to visit. There was no guarantee of success of course, but when had that ever stopped a bat?

They packed up, left the safe-house, and drove back to the manor in complete silence. It was early May and the night air was pleasantly mild against the skin of Dick’s bare arms. Even so, he could feel Jason’s body pressed against his back, clinging to the warmth that seemed to radiate from his brother. Dick was sure Jason would never admit it, not even if his life depended on it, but he had a feeling that this was always his little wing’s favorite part of their Sunday trips: a hug that was not really a hug. Physical contact that was entirely in his control, with no chance for Dick to reciprocate or refuse, short of pushing him off the bike at seventy miles per hour.

One day he would tell Jason that that was the reason he always chose training grounds as far away from the manor as possible.


End file.
